


Ensnared by the Snake

by ZoiAeras



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentor Voldemort (Harry Potter), Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoiAeras/pseuds/ZoiAeras
Summary: The fate of those who share brother wands is not simple nor is it something to be taken lightly.In order to prevent further bloodshed, Ollivander writes a letter to Lord Voldemort to explain what it means that he and Harry Potter share wand cores.Perhaps...it is time for a change of Voldemort's plans, Harry has suddenly become far too valuable to kill...
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 117
Kudos: 772
Collections: Harry Potter





	1. Prologue

  
  
  


**_Prologue: A Shakily Written Letter_ **

  
  


* * *

Unlike many people, Ollivander fully believed that Harry was telling the truth about Voldemort’s return.

Ollivander understood what that man was capable of, it was all in the wand, you see.

The very same wand whose brother chose Harry Potter as its master. It was strange the way wands work sometimes. Even in all of his years studying and crafting them he never fully understood why they chose whom they did. Perhaps that was even a good thing. If he knew everything there was to know about wand lore...they would no longer hold such... _magic,_ and his work would no longer hold meaning.

Yet in all his years of crafting wands, he had never crafted two more powerful brothers, two wands so full of destiny that he struggled to hold his hands steady as he carved their wood, craft their cores...he could feel their _weight_ within his hands, they way they shivered for a master enact greatness with.

Knowing that perhaps it only made sense for the brothers to chose Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry James Potter, they both certainly have achieved greatness and would continue to do so.

Perhaps...they knew better than he, and often Garrik would admit that the wands did know better...they often chose their masters better than he ever could.

He sighed at this thought, his old hands shaking as he flattened a piece of parchment against his worktable, the self-inking quill shaking in his usually steady grip.

It was a letter that Ollivander knew he must write.

_‘You are probably wondering why I have written a letter to you, Mr. Riddle.’_

Ollivander shifted, unsure, and uneasy about writing the name.

_‘It is about your wand. The phoenix who gave the feather in your wand core only gave one other, which I used to another wand, a brother to yours. Before I write who received the brother wand I must first explain what it means to share a wand core.’_

Taking a deep breath Ollivander writes with a shaking hand…

_‘Those who hold brother wands can not truly live while the other merely survives. They are irrevocably linked, through soul and magic. I have seen the phenomena twice before and I know it is true. I understand what it means to share such a significant thing. You must understand why you_ _must not_ _kill the master of your brother wand. Listen to your own wand and you will understand when the time comes. Listen to the way the wand aches when you force it to fight its brother, see the way that if you try to kill the holder your wand will refuse. It will not harm its brother. It will not harm that which it sees as itself, and thus you must realize that you mustn’t hurt the holder either. They are a part of you in a strange way, and you are part of them.’_

The ancient man looks down on his shaky penmanship a grimace pressed into his face, he doubts his words would be enough, yet still, he must try. He must aim for a compromise. Ollivander refuses to live through another war.

_‘Only when together are the brother wands are at their greatest, and together they are happy. The same rings true to their masters. The others who I know hold brother wands have bonds closer than any other I have met. They are perfect pairs to one another, they mesh together in a harmony so beautiful that I struggle to put it into words. It is as if they are blessed by mother magic herself, but only, and only if they are together. _

_To kill the holder of the other wand would only mean to damn yourself and would ultimately lead to your downfall. There is only so much I can say to convince you of fact. I merely hope you will listen and stop further bloodshed, not only for my sake but for the sake of all wizarding kind.’_

Ollivander pauses wondering if he should tell the man who holds the brother wand. It could do no harm, the Dark Lord is already hunting for the boy, it would only serve to help.

_‘I liken the holder of a brother wand to a soulmate of sorts, a perfect pair. If you do not understand that, or refuse to accept the truth there is not much else I can say. The holder of the other wand will surprise you, that I am certain. Even on that Hallowe’en night your wand recognized them and prevented you from harming them._

_By now I’m certain you’ve realized who I am referring to._

_Harry Potter._

_He is the one who wields your brother wand. You both are capable of many great things alone, but it will only be when you come together that your power truly shines. The wand chose Mr. Potter for a reason, just as your wand chose you. I’m sure in time you will understand why as well, perhaps even better than I._

  
  


_-Garrik Ollivander’_

  
  


* * *

  
  


Voldemort read the letter for the fifth time before tossing it aside. There were books strew about his desk all pertaining to wand lore...and ultimately to Potter.

What the wandmaker said was verified in every book he could find on the matter. Furthermore, it appeared that there was no way around the bond that has been formed. As usual, Potter had ruined all his plans…

But perhaps it is no so bad this time.

In his readings, he had learned some rather interesting facts… All he would need to is to spend time with Potter to strengthen his magic and double it sheer power. He would become unstoppable, truly _invincible_. 

One thing was certain, he needed Potter now and the boy should count himself very lucky for that. If it wasn't for this detail he would die.

Voldemort also was pleased to know that the prophecy was quite misleading. It was obvious now that Potter was never meant to kill him and likewise, he was never meant to kill the boy. The man grinned his red eyes flashing dangerously, in fact, the prophecy was no longer of any real consequence as he finally knew of _'the power that the Dark Lord knows not'._

The prophecy was referring to their brother wands the whole time...and it made one fact very clear...

Harry being his death would only come if he fought against the boy.

Voldemort should have listened to the resistance of his wand that Samhain night and he would have already have the world in his hands.

No matter... _he understands now_.

Voldemort wets his thin lips, hands brush over his face, painfully aware of the absent nose and chilled scales. He would see to it that _this_ is fixed before he takes the boy. His charming smile would certainly help woo the boy into complacency… He would hate to be forced into using other methods knowing how important the boy is now.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  


**_CHAPTER I: Bleary Eyes_ **

  
  


* * *

Harry’s eyes blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the strange place he finds himself.

  
He...he was just out to the store...and then…

  
Blank.

  
Nothing...he remembered nothing outside of that, yet...he couldn't bring himself to panic...or...anything.   


“It’s good to finally see you awake, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t quite recognize the voice outside of the fact that it  _ was _ familiar...smooth and rich, and so, so calming… The boy struggled to sit up but found that his body would not let him, his muscle straining and shakily protesting against such actions.

“Not now Harry, there still is too much of the potion in your system to do that…” It was a sibilant hiss in his ear that sent shivers down his spine, yet try as he might he still could not recognize to who the voice belonged, “...yet you can listen, perhaps talk, even.”

“Wh…” The boy’s tongue was leaden and unmaluable in his mouth, weighing heavily against his teeth.

“Or perhaps not...but, I suppose all I need are simple answers.” The man hissed in laughter, “What happens to be your favorite color, my dear?”

Color. Of all the things to ask for the man chose  _ color _ . Perhaps it was to calm him, or to catch him off guard…yet even though Harry did not wish to answer he found the words in his mouth, “o-ange, o-range and bav...y bue.” Harry struggled to get the words out, face burning from the inability to properly form words.

“ _Orange_ and Baby Blue?” The man chuckled, “I absolutely detest orange, but perhaps you would be fine with different shades of blue?”

“O-ay, k-kay...and...yell......yellow.”

Harry blinked, his eyes blurry without his glasses as the man leaned over him, a dark blob of hair and clothes...the man reached over and—Harry sucked in a breath trying not to flinch—gently ran a hand through his hair...so full of tender love.

“You will never need to fear me again, Harry......I suppose yellow will be fine to use as well,” The man whispers softly, playing with the boy’s hair in just the perfect way to make him groan...he really was so touched starved to yearn for more. “You enjoy this, don’t you? I will be sure to do it often then, preferably when you're more...lucid.”

Harry whined as the hand received, “Needy thing aren’t you?”

“Nnnnoooo…..” Harry mumbled struggling to move so he could face the man better, “Please—”

The man let out a laugh, “I hope you remember this Harry...so needy for me to pet your hair...I can only imagine what _else_ would make you...needy.”

The meaning was lost on Harry as he groaned out, “T...ouch—”

“Oh...if you insist, my dear.” The man brought his hand back to Harry’s head, his fingers roaming through and gently tugging on his hair—it was heaven—Harry wasn’t sure if he moaned or not...and he wasn’t even in a place to be embarrassed even if he had. “You are very different than what I imagined...I thought you would have already started to fight, even in such a sad state.”

“Hnnn?” The boy hummed, lifting his head up to allow the man easier access to the back of his head.

“Or...perhaps you’ve yet to realize who I am?”

“Wh...who?” Harry groans as the man gently pulled on the hair just above his nape—it felt  _ so good _ .

“I am Lord Voldemort.”

Harry pulled his head back, staring up at the man blearily, “b-ut...you got...hhh...hair.”

The man stays silent for a long time. “Do you like it?”

“Nnn…” Harry snuggles into the man’s hand, starting to drift back into the drugged haze. “Is...s...sof..t?”

“Yes...it’s very soft.”

“Mee—” Harry struggled to lift his hands up, “touch.”

Voldemort grinned as he lifted Harry’s hand up, helping the boy run it through his hair. “See, Harry?”

“Soft…”

And the boy drifted back to a peaceful, drugged sleep.

* * *

Harry woke with a start, doubling over as he dry heaved, nausea waved through him as tumbled to the floor. Before he had much time he felt hands on him, lifting and dragging him—

“LET ME GO!”

Harry screeched kicking and scratching, but the man was far stronger and bigger than he was—the arms wrapped around tighter and tighter—   


“ **Harry!”**

The voice shouted—

“W-who—”

“Calm down and all will be explained,” The man hissed in his ear and he knew immediately...who it was, his heart jolted and the man’s arms snaked tighter around him, “I promise that I will not hurt you, Harry. My plans have changed, you see.”

“L-let go—”

“Harry...Harry…..” Voldemort hissed in irritation, his warm breath tingling uncomfortably on Harry's skin, “Are you afraid? Truly, there is no reason to be afraid of me any longer...you see...as the holder of my brother wand, you must stay by my side, safe and healthy. Preferably...I’d like this to be pleasant for both of us.”

Harry’s heart thrummed in his chest, “Y-yes...of course.”

It would be easier to escape if he just played along for now.

“I’m glad you understand, Harry.” Voldemort slowly loosened his hold over Harry until he let the boy go, certain he would not try anything. 

“W-what do you mean by brother wands?” Harry said voice barely above a whisper.

Voldemort grinned, “Well it means we are meant for each other, Harry. Whether you wish it or not…You belong to me.”

“I do not!” Harry hissed, backing away from the man, completely forgetting to even ask what  _ ‘brother wands’  _ meant. “You will let me go or—”

“Or what? You will hold your breath?” The man sneered, “Much good that will do you.”

Harry struggled to hold his tongue and not bite back with another retort,  _ patience _ .

“While you were asleep I explored our connection, it is something caused by sharing the same wand cores…” The Dark Lord gives Harry a predatory grin, “I’d rather hate to show you exactly what I can do to you...of course the same connection will have no effect on me, I’ve trained against such things so don't even attempt to turn it against me...or to continue your rude behavior...I certainly think you already deserve punishment for your recent actions.”

“What do you—”

Harry fell to his knees a sudden, searing pain in his scar—but it was only there for a mere moment, yet it echoed through his whole being even after it faded with a prickling sensation.

“But just as Lord Voldemort can be cruel to those who do not listen to him he can be kind to those who do.” Harry writhed to get away from the man, the echo of pain-causing him to panic as the man’s hand reach out and—

Harry gasped as it meets his forehead, brushing gently against his scar, waves of pleasure rippling through his body, simply...simply  _ intoxicating _ . Harry was breathless as his back arching—h-he thought he might have moaned from the contact—from...from  _ his _ touch.

“See just how much control I have over you, Harry?” The man purred, crouching down to meet Harry’s eye level as he lay on the floor, “You would do well to listen to me. As long as you obey me, you may have whatever you desire, and you will not have to suffer or feel pain...I might even...show you  _ that _ again if you wish...but...if you _disobey_ —well the obvious remains obvious. Actions have consequences, Harry.”

Harry glared up at the man sneering, “You don’t control me.”

Voldemort laughed, letting go of Harry before sauntering away, “We shall see...now get cleaned up, I will be back within an hour to see you to dinner, my dear.”

Harry’s stomach churned in disgust at being called  _ ‘my dear’. _

The Dark Lord calmly walked to the door and looked back before closing it, “I would be rather disappointed to find that you... _ misbehaved _ while I was gone, so please...do not even try for I will know if you do.”

Frustratingly, he needed to play along, for now, keep his cool—he would be able to escape when this barmy, madman let his guard down.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  


**_CHAPTER II: Awake_ **

* * *

Harry set out to get ready as quickly as possible to give himself time to explore and discover his surroundings.

He had to admit it was a rather nice room...done in varying shades of blue and the occasional pop of yellow…...he was worried how Voldemort discovered that he liked the combination…? Or perhaps it was just coincidence...hopefully.

It was more ostentatious than he would have ever cared for, richly carved dark wood that he could not name...every piece of furniture had some ridiculous flourish...But it seemed to have everything a room could need, bookshelves that had yet to be filled, a desk, couches, mirrors...anything you needed the room seemed to have it, yet it lacked anything outside of the bare necessities.

The wardrobe was filled with three robes that fit him well but were simple. The bathroom had the basics, the room certainly was not lived in. It felt artificial,  _ dead _ .

Harry hissed in annoyance, having found nothing that could help him escape. He flopped down onto the bed, just waiting in nerve-wracking silence for Voldemort to appear. As he rolled over, he looked up and noticed there was a mirror above the bed, obscured by the lusciously silky canopy and drapes from his view as he explored.

Why would anyone ever want a mirror above a bed? So they could wake up screaming in the night when they see a vague face? So why the mirror?

Harry blushed a deep red at a horrifying thought. 

_ Oh... _

He, he could understand  _ that _ reason but...he certainly would not be watching himself have sex in it anytime soon.

Unless...

Dread pooled in his stomach, he did not even want to think of that as an option. 

Yet...perhaps that's what he’s being held here, for  _ that _ .

That would explain the mirror.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he jumped up, eyes scanning the room for anything useful. Perhaps if he used something to break one of the mirrors he could have a weapon, even if it was just a shard of mirror. 

If it came to it, Harry would refuse to...do  _ that  _ if Voldemort should try--he would sooner kill himself with the shard of glass than...suffer through that.

No way in hell was he going to do  _ that _ , he would make sure to die first. He glares up at the mirror,  _ whether by Voldemort’s wand or his own hand. _

If failed at his escape attempt, whether to freedom...or the freedom death would provide...at least his captor would no longer be in the mood to...fuck.

Harry paused for a moment. He couldn’t break anything in here--it would be noticed too easily. The only option was the mirror in the bathroom...but then again, if he was being taken to dinner, wouldn’t there be a knife at the table? He certainly could try to nick it...but knowing the paranoid man that the Dark Lord was he would not find a chance.

He should keep the mirror idea as a last resort, possibly move something near the bed so he could break it in case of an emergency, he didn’t want to...think of that anymore. Harry gulps, but it's better to be prepared than...not.

Harry yelped when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder---how, how had he gotten in front of him--Harry hadn’t even noticed!

“Your thoughts are quite scary, my dear. But I supposed that is to be expected. Come, I’m sure you are hungry.”

“N-no! H-how did you--”

The man’s smile faded away, “Harry. This is an order, remember what I said about obedience? We are leaving. Now.”

Harry swallowed, struggling to not fight back, he just--just had to act like he was with the Dursleys.

“Yes sir.”

Voldemort’s lips pressed into a thin line. Harry hadn’t really thought about it yet but...Voldemort had ditched the snakey appearance. Harry the reason he missed such a major detail was that he got too wrapped up with his own turbulent thoughts when he first saw him.

“I must also add that if you do happen to take up arms and wield a shard of mirror against me--it would only serve to hurt yourself. I will know if you plan against me Harry, so I would prefer it if you did not.” He gave Harry a wry smile, a curl of his hair falling just above his eyes, Harry could not find further detail as Voldemort spun around and walked to the door forcing Harry to jog just to catch up to the man.

It was a silent walk through winding halls, and Harry couldn't remember which way he was going or where he’d even come from. He could have sworn the paths they were walking would lead him in a loop and on occasion when they followed a straight path for long enough it felt as if he’d been in the same place twice.

Eventually they stopped before a large set of double doors. Oddly enough Voldemort opened them for Harry, waiting for him to go through first, and Harry did with a muttered thanks.

Harry’s jaw went slack and he stopped in his tracks. A large table held what must be hundreds of dishes, from all around the world...some sweet, some savory, spicy, tangy...everything. There were even dishes that he knew took days to prep from experience.

“I was unable to find out exactly what your tastes were in food so I ordered the elves to make a bit of everything.” The man eyed him up and down and he walked around him, Harry stepped aside realizing he was blocking the Man’s path. “If you continue to stand there I'm afraid you won’t get to eat.”

Harry nodded with a small ‘yes sir’ and walked over, struggling to find where to sit.

“Come, sit next to me,” Voldemort motioned to a chair next to some flavourful...oriental food. “Personally I love the flavours that come from Asia, but we can have the food rotated if you do not care for it.”

Harry was still wide eyes about all of it, the fact that……

that  _ Voldemort  _ of all people had gone so far out of their way to be so  _ kind _ to him...it made no sense.

“Why…? Why do all of this?” Unless he was trying to butter up Harry into sleeping with him like the mirror suggested--Harry looked away turning bright red as the dark lord's eyebrows rose--He forgot that the man could read his thoughts!

“Rest assured Harry, that nothing of that nature would happen unless you wanted it.”

“O-oh sweet merlin….” Harry buried his burning face into his hands, how... how could he think such a thing---and the fact that Lord Voldemort called him out on it too--he was going to keel over and die of embarrassment.

“Harry?” The man asked softly, and Harry hated the way he relaxed upon hearing the warm voice. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Come eat, I want you to try a bit of everything.”

Steeling himself for an interesting meal he shakily sat down next to the Dark Lord. He vaguely wondered if the food was poisoned... even if it was, Voldemort had picked an inefficient way to kill him and besides why make such a nice meal if he was just to die? 

Some chivalrous thought of his last meal being the best he’d ever had?

Both Harry and Voldemort know that such a chivalrous concept let alone action was against the Dark Lord’s style.

Harry hadn't realized he’d spaced out until he felt a hand on his own.

“Come now Harry, I wouldn’t stoop so low and be so incompetent as to poison you at my own dinner table instead of the various other ways i could kill you. I have no interest in killing you, Harry. You must realize that if I did...you most certainly would already be dead. Now...nack to the topic at hand---I asked if you wanted the…”

Harry nodded, most of this food he’d never even heard of, let alone dreamed of being allowed to have. He wasn’t even allowed to eat normal meals with the Dursleys... Meanwhile, Voldemort,  _ the man who murdered Harry’s parents _ ....was currently treating Harry like a king.

Harry was starting to wonder if Voldemort was ever going to stop putting food on his plate.

“I-I think I’m full if that’s okay…” Harry gave him a side glance, he really didn't want to get sick from eating too quickly after having not eaten--no he couldn't think of that.

“Of course...However...you are very skinny, Harry. Someone your age normally would be able to eat more.'' Harry swallowed dryly, he had started to sweat with nerves. “Unless it's your emotions that have robbed you of your appetite. I can call for a calming draught if that would help, my dear?”

“N-no, really I’m...just full.” Harry stated barely louder than a whisper, “Really.”

Voldemort hummed and Harry struggled to meet his piercing red gaze.

“You can tell me what’s really upset you, contrary to popular belief I won’t Crucio you over not liking Lao Mein as much as I do.” 

Harry looked him dead in the eye, he knew the man would be upset with him...or perhaps go so far as to kill the problem...he refused to be the cause of someone's death.

“Harry.”

The boy jumped at the tone in the older man’s voice. “I...it’s not something you should do anything about, it will go away on its own.”

After a week or so back to eating regular meals at Hogwarts he was fine, the same would happen here...unless Voldemort decided to stop feeding him. Using starvation as a method of punishment wouldn’t be something he would put past the man--at least Harry would have the experience to deal with it. 

There are far worse things the man could plan.

“Perhaps I should encourage you to explain? The more frequently I see you think about it the more I realize I must be told.” Harry shivered at the cold edge in the man’s voice, his mind flashing back to the pain he caused earlier...but...he didn’t want anyone to die. Or...to give in to him, but at the same time it made the most logic to just tell him, why should he care if the Dursleys die? They wanted him to die--if they were gone he wouldn’t have to go there ever again-- “Five...four...three...two--”

“Y-you don’t have to keep c-counting down!” Harry hissed curling in on himself in disgust, he could afford to let Voldemort win this battle. “I...I just haven't been able to eat a lot this summer...it--it's hard to eat after not...having much for the past few weeks…..”

“So they starved you?” The man hissed leaning forward, “I would expect nothing less from filthy muggles.”

“Please…” Harry’s voice cracked, “Please don’t hurt them, they’re my only family left--”

_ “Don’t hurt them?”  _ The man hissed in parseltongue before fading back into english venom still lacing his voice, “You don’t want me to hurt them... even after all that they have done to you?”

Harry just curled into himself more, balling up, “I--I just don’t want anyone to die…”

Voldemort remained silent for a long time, staring at Harry, his gaze piercing and analytical, the crimson darkened to a thoughtful maroon, whether from affection or righteous fury Harry didn’t know, "You are too kind and merciful for your own good. Luckily you are not in charge here."

Harry shivered and his eyes darted away from the intense red, he had never been in control of a single aspect of his life...nothing new there. But perhaps….perhaps he was too kind for his own good to some extent…

"I'm...tired…" Harry said after a moment looking up with pleading eyes, he would give anything to go back to his room and forget about things for a while.

The Dark Lord looked him up and down as if appraising him, “Very well then...You will need to drink a sleeping potion if you are going to bed.”

“Okay…”

Voldemort got up smoothly, and waited for Harry to stand next to him before he started to walk. “You will need to tell me more about your...muggle relatives in time. But for now a good night’s sleep will do you well.”

Harry awkwardly sidestepped around the man as he held the door open for him, not wanting to be too near.

It was another silent walk to his room and once they arrived, Voldemort again was the one to break it.

“We will work together to add more things to your room, it feels a bit lifeless now. Perhaps in the coming days.” The man then called an elf who came back with the sleeping draught. “Drink.”

Harry eyed the potion but eventually drank it, the man had yet to poison him after all.

His head laid against the pillows and when he closed his eyes he felt a ghost of a hand running through his hair, pulling gently it--it felt good.

“Good night, Harry.”

He didn’t even have the mind to be disgusted with himself as he mourned the loss of the gentle hand carding through his hair.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  
  
  


**_CHAPTER III: Halls_ **

* * *

Harry woke up with a stretch and a yawn, much less panicked than last time. His stomach grumbled as he sat up, eyes darting around the room that was not his own, very intent on ignoring the mirror above his bed. 

He would find a way out soon. He’d make sure of it.

Eventually, his eyes landed on a small table and chair. They weren’t there yesterday—

It had a tray of food and what looked to be...some sort of potion.

Grimacing, Harry rose from his bed, his silk pyjamas both too nice and too soft for his comfort. He was used to worn-out, threadbare t-shirts, and maybe some bottoms if he was lucky.

On the tray lay a single dish, full of eggs, bacon, and some other staples—a knife.

Harry’s heart thrummed at the sight of the metal.

Surely Voldemort was not so careless as to leave a nice knife for Harry? Maybe not the Dark Lord...but the house-elves certainly were. Now, where could he hide it? He couldn’t hide it in the bed; the elves would discover and report it when they cleaned it. Nor in any drawers...Harry looked at the canopy of his bed. He could rest it on top; it wouldn’t be seen there—

—it also would be very hard to reach during an emergency.

Panic started to creep up his spine.

Was there any way to… to keep himself safe from Voldemort? Sooner or later, this ‘nice’ facade would disappear, and Harry would be left with nothing but Voldemort’s true, cruel self. The only place of safety would be away from him.

Yes.

Away.

Grabbing the knife, Harry walked over to the entrance door of his room, trying the handles. Surprisingly, it was unlocked—wait. He couldn’t just leave in his pyjamas, no matter how comfortable they were.

Despite no one being there, Harry turned bright red and quickly changed into the robes that were in his wardrobe.

Heart racing, he ran to the door and opened it, eyes darting both up and down the hall for…  _ Him. _

It was clear, empty...quiet.

Something felt off about the level of peace. It just...was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Harry left his room, knife in hand as he warily walked down the halls, eyes darting around for anything. Yet...there was nothing. He tried as many doors as possible, but none of them budged, leaving Harry to question how Voldemort could possibly stand to live in a house of locked rooms. It would drive him absolutely mad to have to open everything every time he wanted to move.

The longer he wandered the halls, the more confused he became. There were moments he swore he was at the same place before, only to walk a few steps and see something completely new! Sometimes he would walk a straight path that looked to go on for miles—but it didn’t.

Harry’s heart beat as he looked down a new corridor—hopefully one that would not lead him in some deranged loop or down an endless hall. The house, it felt… it felt like it was toying with him, leading him down a path of madness, impossible geometries which he knew were the work of magic—

At one point, he tried the windows. They wouldn’t budge, not even when hit with a chair. And now...the more he looked at this one, he realized the visual was...enchanted. It was a loop of the same wind in a distant tree; Harry was certain of it!

Was he even above ground?

Perhaps the mansion was a million miles below the earth! What would he do then? He wouldn’t be able to leave! He—he—Harry struggled to take in a breath—he couldn’t breathe—

He was lost, lost and scared. This maze—it was  _ wrong! _ Its halls made no sense—you could take the same path but find yourself in a different location! Wrong, wrong, wrong….

Maybe it was like the moving staircases? Could one do that with rooms, halls, an entire manor? How would they all fit together? They shouldn’t be able to!

The halls—they had to be moving! It made sense! That was how he thought he saw the same painting over and over, how he sometimes came across completely new corridors after passing over the same alcove—

“Harry.”

A hand grabbed his arm, lifting him up. When...when had he crumpled to the floor?

“Let go!” He jumped back, swinging the knife that was still in his hand, narrowly missing Voldemort’s arm—

Harry’s breath choked at the way Voldemort’s crimson eyes darkened—

“Now, Harry, there is no reason to be  _ foolish _ .” the man seethed, reaching out and grabbing the arm with which Harry wielded the knife. “I am only showing you leniency since the enchantments of my house have driven you into a panic, just as they were designed to. Now that you are aware of this fact, I hope you will be able to reel your emotions in.”

Harry was still frozen, eyes permanently locked with Voldemort’s as his body shook—

“Harry?” He—he had to leave; how could he leave this maze? How—  _ “Harry!” _

The Parseltongue startled Harry.  _ “S-sorry.” _

Confusion flashed across Voldemort’s face.  _ “You’re a speaker, Harry?” _

_ “A speaker of what?”  _ Harry asked, suddenly forgetting about the terrifying halls, the way they interwove and wound around like intestines, ready to digest prey—

_ “Do you not know what you’re speaking right now, my dearest?”  _ There was a purring hiss in the man’s voice now that Harry… He hadn’t really noticed before—did he—

“Parseltongue.”

“Right you are, Harry.” The boy watched as Voldemort’s face twisted into a grin, something… hungry that he did not like. “I always wondered…” The man trailed off a smirk. “I suppose I will find out later.”

“What? Find out what?” Harry asked, trying to not let any desperation seep into his voice—not that his attempt changed anything.

“Unless you want to find out now, I would allow it, but you aren’t allowed to complain afterward.” Harry grimaced, torn between his will to know  _ exactly _ what this man was thinking, and worried over the consequences.

“I won’t complain.” Voldemort had yet to hurt him, even after… Harry turned bright red, remembering what happened moments ago… even after he swung a knife at him, a full-grown dark lord. What had he been  _ thinking— _

Harry was startled from his thoughts as Voldemort leaned closer—closer⸺closer⸻

“What are you doing!” Harry shouted, jumping back, tumbling to the floor.

“You said you wouldn’t complain, and that you wanted to know  _ exactly  _ what I wondered about.”

Harry looked appalled. “That was you just making me uncomfortable! What the hell were you doing, anyway?!”

The man grinned, “I would have thought Gryffindor’s boy wonder would have had a kiss by now, or at least not be so naive as to not know what one was.”

Harry paled. Perhaps it was a saving grace, or something that Voldemort would torment him with later—his stomach growled hungrily.

“Hungry for food?” Voldemort did not have to say “or” in that sentence for him to know that the man was thinking of it. Harry jumped up and glared at the man. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me take you to your rooms, Harry.”

Harry had no idea why he felt so...so  _ angry— _ and well...why did he feel violated? Nothing even happened! What—why was he so...embarrassed by it all?

The mortified Gryffindor followed Voldemort for all of ten feet before they were outside his doors.

“How…? did I not—I was way farther than this; I know I was!” Harry cried out in frustration, hands in his hair, tugging, ready to rip out a few strands.

“Perhaps you did not travel as far as you thought, Harry.” The man leaned over him, opening the doors. “Use this as a lesson: it is not safe for you to wander the house without my or Nagini’s assistance.”

Harry walked into the room and looked back at Voldemort. He’d much rather the man’s murderous rage than this calm...calm  _ something.  _ This  _ something _ that—the memory of Voldemort leaning close, closer flashed through Harry’s head—

“Dinner should be at your little table.” 

The doors closed, and Harry wrung his hands. He’d left this morning. How long had he spent in the halls…? Harry’s mouth twitched in anger. Voldemort must have known he left his room. He probably had enjoyed his distressed wanderings that evidently lasted all day. The downright bastard.

  
  
Then he used…  _ that _ as an excuse to… well… Harry’s mouth pinched together. Why would Voldemort ever…. do such a thing! To make him upset, to unsettle him? Probably.

  
  
Well, Harry is able to play petty games, as well. 

Harry sneered at the dinner plate lying on his little table.

He did not have to eat, and it wasn’t like Voldemort could  _ Imperio _ him into it, either. Plus, what was a little pain? He’d suffered before and would be willing to do so again if it meant proving a point.

* * *

Voldemort had never really thought about why a bed would have a mirror above it. He was never one to suffer from hormones or other silly teenage thoughts… yet the idea… invigorated him, like it would a pubescent boy.

Harry… Harry noticed the mirror above the bed and had assigned a purpose to it, one that Voldemort found himself entertained by.

Perhaps it would be interesting to hold the boy in such a position that he would be forced to watch himself in the mirror, every moan and arch of the back—

Voldemort had never been excited by sexual thoughts, but this...it enthralled him. From the moment he saw the idea in Harry’s thoughts, to when he lay in his own bed, eyes gazing up at the mirror above his own bed, one that he had never paid any mind to until now…

His heart sped up at his imagination: Harry held in his arms—they lock eyes through the mirror—just as Harry comes in his hand—

These new thoughts… were quite strange.

Intriguing.

_ And weak, _ his thoughts whispered to him. Perhaps they  _ were _ … weak. But they would only serve to give him more power if Harry felt the same way, if Harry had such weakness towards him. Voldemort would finally be able to have a power that he knew not…

He grinned up at his reflection in the dark.

It would take a long time to get Harry to desire such things, but thankfully, Lord Voldemort was a patient Lord. He would wait patiently, say just the right things, and eventually… Harry would be right under his thumb. He would be under him, and… Voldemort would  _ own _ him.

* * *

It had been a torturously long day. Voldemort finally set foot into his underground fortress, his only solace from the world, the place where he also kept Harry.

The Dark Lord grinned at the thought of Harry so alone, with only himself for company, —and perhaps Nagini, though she did not make much of a conversation.

Voldemort walked the halls to his dearest’s room, pausing as he found the boy on the floor of the hall, breathing harsh, curled into himself.

He had found the enchantment. It was one of Voldemort’s finest works—impenetrable, unnavigable—and when added with all the wards and charms—it made his fortress truly deserving of the name  _ fortress _ .

“Harry.” Voldemort said, grabbing the boy by his arm and lifting him up.

“Let go!” he screeched. Voldemort jumped back, barely dodging the knife.  _ How dare Harry ever raise a hand against him. _

“Now, Harry, there is no reason to be  _ foolish _ ,” Voldemort hissed, grabbing Harry’s arm and twisting so the boy dropped his silly weapon. The thought of someone ever attacking a sorcerer as great as him with a mere knife made him scoff. “I am only showing you leniency since the enchantments of my house have driven you into a panic, just as they were designed to. Now that you are aware of this fact, I hope you will be able to reel your emotions in.”

The boy did not respond. He just stayed, frozen in fright, his eyes boring into Voldemort’s—

“Harry?” There was a long pause.  _ “Harry!” _

He watched Harry jump at the Parseltongue. Voldemort silently relished in the way it made most wizards flinch.

_ “S-sorry…” _

_ “You’re a speaker, Harry?” _

_ “A speaker of what?”  _ The boy asked, suddenly no longer under the enchantment of the halls.

Voldemort felt his heart flutter at the sibilant hisses coming from Harry’s mouth. How  _ fascinating _ . This boy only grew more interesting the more he knew…  _ “Do you not know what you’re speaking right now, my dearest?” _

“Parseltongue—” Harry’s words were near breathless. His lips twitched; his eyes were wide—

“Right you are, Harry.” Voldemort could not help the grin that stretched its way across his face, his eyes latching onto Harry’s mouth…  _ How would it feel to taste the mouth of a fellow Parseltongue _ ?

“I’ve always wondered…” He trailed off, eyes locking into Harry’s as his mouth twisted into a grin, the very thought… oh, the very thought of it indeed. “I suppose I will find out later.”

Voldemort loved the confusion on Harry’s face.

“What? Find out what?” Harry asked, trying to not let any desperation seep into his voice. Not that his attempt changed anything; it only made Voldemort long more.

* * *

Voldemort loved how Harry startled and squirmed as their lips came near. Even if they never kissed, it would be enough… for now.


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
  


**_CHAPTER IV: A Dream._ **

* * *

Harry swallowed dryly as he looked into Voldemort’s red eyes.

On the table between them lay a delicious roasted chicken, its golden skin shining with juice. The smell permeated through Harry’s thoughts. Next to it were some roasted veggies, and mashed potatoes too—something Harry would usually struggle to not gobble down.

Voldemort hummed, licking his lips. “Such a mouth-watering aroma...I doubt even  _ I _ could resist such an appetizing dish. Not that I would ever  _ try _ .”

The man reached out and cut Harry a piece of the breast. He then put generous heaps of vegetables and mashed potatoes next to it—he poured the gravy—

Harry clenched his eyes shut as his stomach growled loudly.

His heart skipped a beat as he heard the plate clink as it was set down before him. Tentatively, Harry opened an eye.

“Mmmm! Simply divine!” Voldemort hummed in approval as he took a bite of the juicy, golden-roasted chicken. “And the skin is cooked to perfection! Crunchy and absolutely  _ delicious _ .”

“I—I won’t eat it.” Harry’s voice wavered. So far, he’d managed to refuse two meals—he’d missed five if you counted his...adventure in the halls. He would keep going just to annoy Voldemort.

“Come now, Harry...there is no reason to deny yourself.” The man gave him a vicious grin. “It will only cause yourself further problems. Just submit to me.”

Harry jumped up, slamming his hands against the table. “If you think that you can just sit here and toy with me, you’re wrong!”

Voldemort schooled his expression, merely leaning forward against the table and resting his head on his hands, interlaced just so they covered his mouth. “My dear...have you yet to realize that you are not merely a toy to me?”

Clenching his fists, still pushing against the table. “Then what  _ am  _ I?”

“My dear, I have already told you...we share brother wands.” 

Harry growled, “And exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

The man grinned, getting up so that Harry could no longer hold the illusion of looming over him. “Why, Ollivander himself told me it was something similar to... _ soulmates. _ ” The last word was hissed in the soothing syllables of Parseltongue. Harry froze.

“I...I don’t believe you. Liar!”

“Fine, Harry. Suit yourself. However, even if you deny the facts, they still remain true.” The Dark Lord wiped his hands with the white linen napkin. Getting up, he tossed his napkin onto his seat and walked away. “If you want to deny the truth, I suppose I should leave you to it. The roasted chicken really is delicious; it would be a shame not to have any.”

Just like that, he left, full of that arrogant smugness that Harry was starting to truly loathe more than the murder-happy side of him. There was nothing he could do.

Harry slumped down into his chair, staring at his plate as his stomach growled.

Voldemort...seemed to not care. He did not react how Harry had expected him to when he’d decided to starve himself. Just insisted on sharing meals, and Harry would be glad to spend less time with the monster.

Figures… Well, if there was nothing to gain from it, why bother? It would only make it harder to fight and escape if he was half-starved.

Harry picked up his fork and a...butter-knife—so he  _ was  _ no longer allowed real knives—and ate.

His idea was a stupid one anyway.

He ate dinner alone that night and slept with a full stomach. It was nice to not have the Dark Lord breathing down his neck.

* * *

Harry groaned at the hands running down his chest. They travelled lower and lower, wrapping around his waist, bare skin rubbing against bare skin. They lingered, hovering over his hip bones before lifting him up gently so that he sat in someone’s lap, something pressing into his lower back.

_ “Harry.” _

The boy gasped when the man took him in hand and slowly pumped, teasing his slit oh so painfully slowly. Harry couldn’t help but buck up his hips, yearning for more, arms trying to wrap around the man behind him.

_ “Good boy…”  _

Harry smiled...he was, wasn’t he?

He was a good boy…

But...who…?

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up, startled to see his face in—a mirror?

Harry’s gaze met his other self in the mirror, its eyes blown wide with lust. He looked away, further into the scene he found himself in, his lover’s caring hands as he played with him. Voldemort— **Voldemort** was playing with him— _toying with his body_ —

What the  _ fuck. _

Harry screamed.

His hand shot up to wipe away the sweat from his forehead, his body curling on itself as he struggled not to panic.

What...was  _ that? _

He shifted in his bed to look out the enchanted windows. It was still dark out. He didn’t want to think about the dream—what? Why? Of all things to dream of?

As his eyes shifted downward, he realized he was...sticky.

A heavyweight settled in his stomach.

_ He was having a wet dream about Voldemort _ .

Harry wasn’t given any longer to ponder such a horrifying thought as the door to his room slammed open.

“I heard you scream.” Voldemort wore only a fluffy bathrobe. His red eyes bored into Harry. “What happened?”

He watched as Voldemort grew near. Harry carefully covered up his...issue. His face was undoubtedly burning a bright red, as the bathrobe left Voldemort’s chest exposed.

Harry looked away, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. “Just a nightmare...please, go back to sleep.”

The man stood there silently for a long while. “If you insist. I will find out eventually, my dear...was it of your relatives? I’ve had my fair share of nightmares about the orphanage. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or to hide from. You shouldn’t hide from your dreams, Harry. They often know more than you.”

Harry clenched his fists, snorting, “And you certainly put a lot of faith in them. I never took you for a person who would fall into the divination trap,  _ Riddle. _ ”

Voldemort was too fast for Harry—his hand was around his neck and he leaned over him, forcing him to shift, nearly revealing his, his—

“Do not use that name again, Harry. Remember the power I hold over you. Even a foolhardy Gryffindor like you should know when to hold your tongue.”

“Perhaps...the hat  _ had _ wanted me for Slytherin.” The man’s eyes brows quirked a bit at that.

“Well, this is going nowhere. Goodnight.”

And just as quickly as he had come in, he left.

Harry did not like the way his heart beat strangely in his chest. 

It was just fear.

* * *

Breakfast was a strangled affair, the events of last night looming over both participants in far different ways.

Harry stared down at his meal, a Japanese-style breakfast that Voldemort was fond of—heart hammering in dread as he tried to not think about...the dream.

Voldemort sat languidly, reading a French newspaper.

His eyes never left the page, for more than one reason. He refused to look at the one who had ruined his dream from the previous night. He could not help but think about the dream. Something was off about it.

It felt different than the other ones Voldemort had of Harry. More  _ real,  _ in a sense.

It disturbed him more than Harry’s scream had—Harry had woken up as soon as their eyes locked in the dream…

He had only one conclusion. 

It was a rare case of shared dreams.

Part of him desperately wished it to be true while the other knew what it would mean if it  _ was  _ indeed the truth.

He took a deep breath. eyes finally dragging themselves up to look at Harry, “While there are many Japanese dishes that are served cold...this is not one of them. Eat Harry, before it gets much colder.”

The boy hissed in a breath pushing it away, “I’m not very hungry. I will eat later.”

“If I find you skipping meals again I will not be happy. You  _ will  _ eat later, otherwise, I will have to take action.” Voldemort stood up swiftly gathering the paper that he’d yet to read a single line of. “Enjoy your day Harry. Nagini will take you to your rooms.”

Then Voldemort left.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Once again that morning, Harry found himself alone.

It left such a bitter taste in his mouth.

One he was well content to ignore. 

He’d much rather be alone than deal with a  _ mad man _ like Voldemort.


End file.
